


The Third Moon is a Beacon in the Cold Dark Night

by JEAikman



Series: For the Strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the Strength of the Wolf is the Pack [3]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e05 The Homecoming, Friendship, Gen, Slight and Brief Allusion to Period Typical Racism, werewolf!d'Artagnan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2099451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/pseuds/JEAikman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And that is something which, whether he knows it or not, d'Artagnan sorely needs.</p>
<p>Porthos is more than happy to reassure him - he just might take a little bit of convincing, is all.</p>
<p>In which Porthos tries to get the stupid puppy to understand that he won't think of him any differently for what he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Third Moon is a Beacon in the Cold Dark Night

"Flea's like you, y'know, pup."

Yes, he was well aware of that, thank you very much. Porthos smelled like her everywhere, and though her scent wasn't exactly repulsive to him, the fact that she wasn't pack, and that because of that, Porthos didn't smell like pack was enough to get his hackles raised, which in turn earned a chuckle from the man in front of him.

"Yes, her reaction was pretty similar to that. Though it was more exasperation that I hadn't figured it out. And I'm sitting here, kicking myself, because it should have been so obvious - especially after Athos and Aramis both mentioned a tame wolf coming to them and comforting them. How I didn't even think that maybe you were a were, I don't know." Well, it just sounded like Porthos knew that he was a werewolf, not that he was d'Artagnan, which was promising, but he couldn't hope that it would last forever.

"We know you, don't we?" He asked softly, reaching out to scratch behind d'Artagnan's chin - Dieu, that was heavenly. So much so, in fact, that he let out a very satisfied sound that was almost a purr. Porthos chuckled, and he sent a half-hearted glare at the man.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, pup. It's a wolf thing, right? Though I have to say, I've never heard of there being a werewolf from Gascony, before."

D'Artagnan suddenly felt very cold, and he tripped over his paws as he backed up against the wall in his panic, frantically searching for an escape route. Porthos cursed under his breath, and made very slow, deliberate movements towards d'Artagnan.

"Hey, hey, shh, it's alright. It's okay. I thought you knew I knew it was you. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out like that." The wolf stopped searching for an exit, but he kept his ears flat against his head and his teeth bared, since the shock and the fear he had felt at the revelation still hadn't quite passed. Porthos, rather wisely, didn't reach out to touch him again, just waited until he relaxed further.

"You good now? Mary and sweet baby Jesus, d'Artagnan, you're worse than a flighty mare in a storm." d'Artagnan growled, but it was more playful than threatening. "I mean it," he continued, "And I get why you don't announce it to all and sundry - but don't you know you can trust us?" His voice was so earnest and sad that d'Artagnan had to look away in shame. Of course he trusted all of them, with his life - but how could he ever trust anyone with his secret? He'd watched his mother kill the only person who had ever found out about them, because it was that or be hunted and hated for the rest of their lives.

Porthos sighed and shook his head, before reaching out and grabbing the wolf under his elbows, forcing d'Artagnan to meet his eyes.

"Fine, I probably don't understand what goes on in that furry brain of yours, you daft whelp, but I do know what it's like to be treated different because people think you're less of a person than them for something beyond your control. Skin colour, lycanthropy - don't make one ounce of difference, mutt. We misfits gotta stick together, alright?"

The whine which d'Artagnan let out was such a pathetic and terrified little noise that Porthos set him back down. "I won't tell the others about this, you idiot - you have your reasons, I'm sure. I've seen what some people tried to do to Flea when they found out what she was, and I know why you're scared - but Aramis and Athos, d'Artagnan - do you really think they'd hate you for nothing more than the skin you were born with?" And d'Artagnan wanted very much at that moment to change back and tell Porthos that it wasn't the same thing, at least he was human.

But he stopped and thought about it for the moment, and realised that it was. It was exactly the same thing. Those in power - like that judge, who he was very well going to bite the hands off of and rip out his throat, if he ever got the chance - were always going to step on those who they thought beneath them. Huffing an exhausted sigh, he approached Porthos this time, who smiled approvingly when the boy nuzzled his head under his arm, wanting nothing more than to be close and safe.

"There now, that's more like it" Porthos told him quietly, and let d'Artagnan get himself all settled, with his paws tucked underneath him before grabbing the blanket off of the bed and wrapping them both in it, placing an arm carefully against the wolf's side. D'Artagnan happily pressed closer against Porthos, glad of the warmth and simple comfort of touch. Part of him achingly wished that the others would join them and they would all be safe in one place where he could watch over and protect them, but for now, he was the one feeling protected, in the arms of someone whose strength could tear apart a man as well as any wolf's claws, and he melted into that embrace, letting himself truly and utterly surrender to the protection he found.

"Used to sleep like this as kids, Charon, Flea n' me. Was the only way t' keep warm. I kinda missed it" He listened to Porthos's words with quiet gratitude, recognising it as an invitation to spend the night like this whenever either of them might need it, and it warmed him from his nose to the tip of his tail, that he could be so welcomed.

They said nothing further, and slept peacefully through the night - though d'Artagnan's dreams that night did involve a rather terrifying army of melons.

**Author's Note:**

> You should know by now that these fics are really just an excuse for gratuitous cuddle fics, but I promise the next one will include a nice dramatic reveal. Decided to have Porthos knowing now because (well, one, because Porthos would) and because I want someone to be firmly in d'Art's corner whilst the other two are maybe slightly freaking out


End file.
